Fragile Minds
by Eratta
Summary: Complete In the Aftermath of 'Rajiin', Trip and T'Pol have to decide how to proceed with their relationship. Ignores Impulse
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Inspired by the deepening relationship between Trip and T'Pol in the Expanse, takes place the day after 'Rajiin". Go easy on me; it's been about a month since I've actually written anything for fun, and I'm a bit rusty. I just need to get this out of my system.  
  
Spoilers: Rajiin.  
  
Archive: yes, just tell me where. Disclaimer: If I had my way, I'd be head of the writing team for this show and make everyone involved ridiculously rich. As it is, I don't own a thing.  
  
T'Pol had returned to her quarters late that night, deciding to end the day only when her work was totally complete. The captain had asked for a detailed analysis of the ship they had recently encountered and the vortex it had disappeared into. For her part, she was all too glad to have something to focus her attention on. It would give her sufficient distraction from her encounter with the slave, an encounter she was quite willing to forget.  
  
Yet the power of the Vulcan mind can be underestimated sometimes, even by Vulcans themselves. She had worked harder than she realized, and was beginning to feel the full affects of exhaustion and mental trauma. As a result, she was now lying on her bed with nothing to occupy her troubled mind. Thus, she had no choice but to remember that awful experience. This was the second time T'Pol had been mentally violated, and the aftermath was just as painful as it had been the first time. She couldn't repress the feelings of revulsion and fear that surfaced during the slave woman's callous romp through her psyche. But almost worse than knowing that Rajiin had seen her innermost thoughts and feelings was having to experience them now. Once brought to the surface, there were some things that would never become dormant again. T'Pol shivered involuntarily beneath the blankets as the deluge of feelings crashed over her. The effects of the Expanse and Rajiin had rendered her helpless, stranded in the boiling sea of her emotions. Clenching the sheets and squeezing her eyes shut, she was forced to relive each one in excruciating vividness. Reality was lost as she tumbled through the darkest corners of her own mind, mixing memories with feelings to create grotesque paintings of her life. She was drawn back to herself in the same method as she had the previous night.  
  
She heard the distinct sound of her door opening, and forced her eyes open. For one terrified moment, she believed the slave woman had returned. But it was much worse, if there could be anything worse than seeing Rajiin again. It was Commander Tucker.  
  
He had barged into her quarters very quickly, only now to be standing sheepishly in the entry way, rubbing his left bicep. T'Pol sat up and pushed the blankets away, fighting to at least appear to be feeling normal.  
  
"I'm sorry ta barge in on ya like that, but ya didn't answer the door and after what happened last night . . ." he trailed off, stealing a glance at her. T'Pol hadn't answered. She was sitting upright, but was slightly stooped and her head was bowed. Trip could even see that she was shaking. He took a step closer, not sure of what to do.  
  
"T'Pol?"  
  
She said nothing, did nothing. She was a statue, dead to the world. He came to crouch in front of her now, peering up into her darkened face. He tried once more.  
  
"Hey,"  
  
This time she did look at him, and Trip was taken aback. Her expression . . . there was no way to describe it other than bleak and terrible. No one knew what exactly Rajiin had done to her, but from this one look Trip knew it was something very serious, something that couldn't be easily or quickly remedied, if at all.  
  
"Why are you here?" she asked. Her eyes were hard, but it wasn't real; he could tell. She was trying to put up a front, and was failing miserably at it. He glanced away for a moment before answering.  
  
"I was comin' for the neuropressure. I shoulda known it would be a bad time." He got up, but in a moment of uncontrolled impulse, T'Pol grabbed his wrist and held tight.  
  
"Don't leave." She whispered. She couldn't bear to see him go. He crouched back down, gripping her wrist in turn. Trip couldn't stand to see her like this.  
  
"We should get you to the doctor."  
  
"No."  
  
"T'Pol, even you can't deny that somethin's wrong. It's best that you get checked out. Maybe you can even tell 'im what's on yer mind. It might make you feel better."  
  
The Vulcan stared at him. He was making it so difficult. How could she stand a chance against these feelings when he was being so good to her? She could no longer dismiss the mild sensations that fluttered through her when she was around him, could no longer claim that she helped him with neuropressure for his sake alone, and could no longer deny that she was deeply, psychologically attracted to him. A large part of her still couldn't accept this fact, but a growing portion already had. What was she to do in the face of such strong emotions?  
  
"Nothing the doctor can do or say will help me." She answered, eyes never leaving his.  
  
He paused; still gazing into her mesmerizing walnut brown eyes, and asked,  
  
"How about me? Can I help?"  
  
She was on the verge of telling him; of trying to articulate that which her heart understood, but her mind couldn't begin to comprehend. But at the last moment, blessed reason won the battle. What good would it do to tell him? It would only make matters worse. T'Pol swallowed audibly and looked away, withdrawing her hand as she replied,  
  
"No."  
  
She sat back against the wall of her bunk, her face more composed than it had been when he'd entered. Trip sat on the edge of the tiny bed, still focusing intently on her. God, how he wished she'd trust him. What did he have to do to make her understand that seeing her like this was shredding him up inside? That it was a thousand times worse because she didn't know how he felt, and would never let him comfort her the way he wanted to?  
  
Finally, T'Pol looked up and moved closer. Logic had saved her yet again: by acknowledging that she could never share her feelings with Trip, she had been able to confine the tumultuous desires. At least, for the time being. She was still First Officer, and she still had a job to do, both on and off duty.  
  
"Please remove your shirt and face the wall hanging." She asked him, rubbing her hands together to warm them. She tingled with anticipation as he did so. His body, warm and supple, was divinely meant to be touched. T'Pol's fingers shook as she placed them on his muscular shoulders, beginning the techniques that would help him sleep in peace. He sighed and began to breathe deeply as she pressed into the knobs of his spine, and T'Pol took comfort from the feeling of his body under her hands.  
  
She drew a line down his spine with her index finger, starting at the nape of his neck and trailing it down to the sacrum. Trip gasped and sat up straighter. He loved the feel of her hands on him, loved the way she made him feel whenever they did this. The calm was unparalleled to anything he had ever experienced, and just being with her was wonderful. She would never understand how much he'd come to look forward to these sessions, especially knowing that idle ship gossip didn't bother her. They had become more comfortable with each other in these rituals, and she was fast becoming his best friend and confidant.  
  
T'Pol's hands stilled suddenly, and then withdrew from his flesh. Trip, surprised at the brevity of the exercise, twisted to look at her. She was staring back at him, eyes wide and unreadable.  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
The question broke her out of the reverie, and she averted her gaze once again in a manner that Trip recognized as embarrassment.  
  
"Nothing. I think that should suffice for tonight."  
  
He continued to regard her, then got up and came to sit behind her.  
  
T'Pol was slightly alarmed. "What are you doing?"  
  
Trip was warming his hands together in the same manner she had earlier. "It's your turn."  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"I do." He reiterated firmly. "You're goin' ta need sleep, and it's clear to me that you need some help."  
  
T'Pol hesitated. Surely this was not a good idea. The mere sight of him was enough to send bolts of pleasure through her body. If he touched her, now, when she knew the breadth and depth of her regard for him in its entirety . . . and yet, why not? She asked herself? Just this one indulgence, just to see how it felt. Just one last time.  
  
Trip grinned softly to himself as she barred the lovely expanse of her back to him, holding the silk material over her chest for some lingering semblance of decency. His broad, flat hands covered her shoulder blades, and he could feel her tense beneath them.  
  
"Relax." He chided softly.  
  
He tried to mimic the techniques she had used on him, and caught his breath when she sighed. Finally, with trembling fingers and dry lips, he traced the curves of her spine. But instead of using a single finger, he lay his palm flat over the immaculate indentation and let his entire hand glide slowly down the length of her back. T'Pol gasped and arched like a cat.  
  
Savoring his touch, she leaned back until her head rested on his shoulder, her cheek separated from his by only a hair's width. Trip's hands now slid forward to her stomach, where they entwined with her own over the silk of her chemise. He turned his head slightly, and kissed the corner of her jaw. Minutes like hours passed, and neither moved for what seemed like an eternity.  
  
When T'Pol broke the silence, it was with great reluctance. She pulled away and pulled the chemise over her head, taking her time before turning back to him and addressing the situation they found themselves in.  
  
"Commander . . ."  
  
"Don't, T'Pol. Please." He cut her off. She was silent, gazing at him expectantly. Trip ran a hair through his hair, struggling to find the words. Finally, he laughed in frustration.  
  
"Dammit, I don't know what to say."  
  
"I apologize, Commander. In my . . . distress I acted inappropriately."  
  
"You weren't any more inappropriate than I was, T'Pol. And distress mighta been yer motivation, but it wasn't mine."  
  
There was silence again as both comprehended his words. That silence said more than words ever could, and both understood the implications. Trip sighed.  
  
"I just want you to know, that if you ever need anything, I'm just down the hall."  
  
T'Pol nodded her understanding, and Trip stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned back and asked quickly,  
  
"Do you want to forget this ever happened?"  
  
"Do you?" T'Pol held her breath. Everything depended on his answer.  
  
Trip deliberated before answering softly, "To be honest, no I don't. But I'll take whatever road you choose."  
  
"In that case, I'll see you tomorrow evening as well."  
  
Trip smiled and threw her a wink before exiting her quarters. T'Pol turned off the lights and lay back down, pondering the future. But sleep soon claimed her, and she left off speculating to allow the future to write itself.  
  
A/N Continued: Okay, yeah I know they haven't gotten this far yet. Can I help it that I want some fluff? Just leave a review and help me get back into the swing of things. I feel like I'm starting back from square one, so any critique is helpful. This might be the end, or maybe not. I don't know. It all depends on how much time I have and whether or not the mused decides to bestow her favors. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to those of you who reviewed. I didn't really intend to continue this, but I felt it needed some finishing, so here it is. Keep in mind its unbeta-ed (like all my fanfic), and I apologize in advance for any inconsistencies with established Trek lore. Just read it and tell me what you think, okay? It's not that hard. Oh, and one more thing: this is all coming from the mind of a woman who's never been in love. If it's completely unrealistic, now you know why.  
  
For the first time since beginning his sessions with the First Officer, the effects of neuropressure failed Trip. He lay on the bunk tangled in his sheets, completely awake. He couldn't believe what had happened that night. T'Pol . . . she'd said yes. She felt the same as he did. He couldn't shake the image of her, of her bare back, of her thought-shattering eyes. He shuddered at the memory of her touch, and longed to run his hands down her back again. Unbidden, a memory of his conversation with Malcolm rose in his consciousness.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Hey Lieutenant, think you could help me purge the impulse manifolds today?" Trip asked as he set down his plate of eggs and bacon. The armory officer was tucking into his pancakes, and barely glanced at Trip as he responded,  
  
"Why don't you just massage it with your magic fingers?"  
  
Trip choked and stared at his friend in shock. What had he just said? More importantly, what had he just insinuated?  
  
"What the hell are you talkin' about?"  
  
Malcolm took a long drink from his mug of coffee, fixing the engineer with a look that confirmed all of Trip's suspicions. Even after setting the mug down, Reed was silent.  
  
Trip crossed his arms and hushed his voice, but not even that could mask the discomfort in it.  
  
"I told ya before, it's not like that."  
  
Malcolm grinned and hid his face with a napkin, replying, "Sure."  
  
"I mean it Malcolm. She's just helpin' me sleep. And besides, we're colleagues, nothin' more."  
  
Malcolm still didn't look convinced, but it was time to report for duty, so the conversation had been dropped. And thankfully, Trip mused, never brought up again.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Still wide awake in the darkened room, staring at the streaks of stars, Trip was still trying to process the recent turn of events. He would never forget what she had said, that if they were to pursue a relationship, it wouldn't be of Mr. Reed's concern, would it? And tonight, she'd almost opened herself up to him. Almost. The question now was how to proceed? Trip sighed. It was pretty clear he wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The following morning in the make-shift chemistry lab, T'Pol and Trip were making yet another attempt to synthesize Trellium D. It was painstaking work, involving several hours of brand new calculations (which usually differed from the previous ones by a decimal point or something equally trivial) followed by setting up the reaction, ultimately to have the experiment fail for an unknown reason. The entire process required a great deal of concentration and stamina, which Trip sometimes didn't have enough of.  
  
On this attempt, after such a long and difficult night, neither of the amateur chemists was functioning at full efficiency. T'Pol was acutely aware of her proximity to the Commander, as well as her own emotions concerning him. She still had not regained complete control of herself. Trip was uncomfortable because they were acting as if nothing had happened the previous night.  
  
"Commander."  
  
Trip was startled. "Yeah?"  
  
"Are you finished balancing the equations?" She asked, coming to peer over his shoulder. Trip tried not to imagine what part of her body was touching him at that moment, but it was hard. Very hard. He swallowed audibly and turned to face her.  
  
"Here you go." He said. His voice was soft, his breath cooling her abnormally warm ear. T'Pol forced herself to remain professional. 'There is a time for work and a time for other things' she chastised herself. Checking over his work, her brows narrowed as she detected several rudimentary mistakes.  
  
She looked back at him, her gaze now sharp with scrutiny. The Commander, oblivious to her observation, massaged his eyes with a large, calloused hand. T'Pol took stock of his posture and overall air of fatigue.  
  
"How well did you sleep last night?" she enquired.  
  
Trip sighed, but had to give a haphazard smile for her remarkable perception. He'd been trying to hide it, but obviously the woman wasn't fooled.  
  
"Not at all."  
  
This statement garnered him two raised eyebrows instead of the usual one.  
  
"You should have told me. It is foolish for us to attempt this when we're not both completely prepared." T'Pol reminded him, coming to stand directly in front of him. She gazed up into his ashen face, unaware that her own had taken on an expression of distinct concern.  
  
"What were you thinking about after you left my quarters?'  
  
Trip combed his hair with his fingers, trying to make his heart stop pounding.  
  
"Just . . . things, you know? Going over the day in my head. It wasn't anythin' out of the ordinary."  
  
The Vulcan's winged brows did not return to their relaxed position.  
  
"Obviously, it was something out the ordinary. It takes a great deal to override the effects of neuropressure."  
  
Trip sized her up. It was pretty clear she wouldn't let them get back to work until he'd explained. Damn stubborn woman, he thought with an inward smile.  
  
"Well if ya must know, I was thinkin' about us." There, that should give 'er a surprise, he smirked.  
  
But if she was indeed surprised, she wasn't showing any sign of it. T'Pol hadn't stepped back, and was still gazing up at him with a patient expression. Only now Trip detected a more greenish tint along her cheekbones and on the tips of her ears. Yet she didn't break the intensity of the gaze, and Trip could hardly think straight as he continued,  
  
"You can't have expected me to walk away with absolutely nothin' on my mind."  
  
"I caused you distress?"  
  
He chuckled at her concern. Was there anything more endearing than seeing her lovely face drawn together in a distinct expression of care? Trip was pretty sure there wasn't.  
  
"I wouldn't say distress, but come on T'Pol, after what happened last night I was left with plenty more questions than answers."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
He gaped at her. What was there to misunderstand?  
  
"Well, uh, from my standpoint you pretty much expressed . . . an interest in me." He said, hands on his hips. He was trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. She had that uncanny knack of making anyone feel like a kid with a crush on a teacher. And in this case, said kid was accusing the teacher of feeling the same way.  
  
T'Pol looked away briefly before returning to her earlier position near the door. Trip was silent as she mused, apparently thinking of an appropriate response to his words. Her silence was driving him insane. He was about to break it when the door opened to admit the captain.  
  
Trip held back a sigh of frustration.  
  
"How are you two doing in here?" Archer asked.  
  
"We still have yet to attempt the experiment today, Captain." The First Officer intoned coolly. Trip noted with smugness that not even he got that particular tone anymore. It gave him hope, albeit not much at this point.  
  
The captain frowned and glanced at his one-time best friend. "Why not?"  
  
Readying himself for at least a look of reproval, Trip opened his mouth to explain. But before he could utter a sound, T'Pol smoothly cut in.  
  
"We are attempting to discover the root of the problems. Once we have done so, it is probable we can proceed with more safety and success." Archer nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer, and left the room with,  
  
"Just let me know when you've made some progress."  
  
The instant he was sure Jon was out of earshot, Trip released his emotions, heedless of the fact that T'Pol was still probably not entirely herself.  
  
"Are ya crazy? You just lied to the Cap'n!"  
  
She fixed him with a look of indignation. "I most certainly did not. The problem may simply be caused by the discomfort between us. Once rectified, I am confident we will be able to finally synthesize this compound."  
  
Trip was not appeased, or subdued for that matter. Now, instead of being confused he was hurt and mad.  
  
"From the way you acted last night and the things you said, it seemed we're pretty damn comfortable with each other already." He shot back hotly.  
  
"Commander," she began softly. Trip couldn't help but mellow a bit at her pitch, a tone that he would like to think was reserved only for him. "I apologize for not being clearer. While I am not entirely opposed to a more . . . intimate relationship between us, I seriously doubt it could come into fruition."  
  
Trip crossed the tiny space in a two steps, coming very close to the woman he cared for but careful not to violate her private space.  
  
"But what about the things you said the other day? About how if we were to have a relationship, it wouldn't be anyone's business?"  
  
"I said it wouldn't be of Lt. Reed's concern, but it would be of concern for the captain." She said delicately.  
  
"No it wouldn't." Trip retorted firmly. Enough was enough, and he was sick of beating around the bush. "It wouldn't have been even two years ago because we were essentially the same rank on this ship, and technically the fraternization rules never applied to you anyway. And now that you're not part of the High Command anymore, not even those rules apply to you."  
  
"But I am still First Officer, and in crises I make decisions."  
  
Trip was exasperated and didn't bother hiding it. Why was she doing this to him? Or to herself, for that matter?  
  
"Why are you bein' so contradictory? Just last night your practically fell into my arms and told me you didn't want to forget it. My whole point is, if we want this relationship there's nothing stopping us from having it."  
  
T'Pol had nothing to say to that, and Trip knew he'd at least won this round. But the victory was empty. He couldn't get his head around it, around her, and the whole thing stressed him out. He didn't want to think about having to go back to their distant friendship, not after all that had happened between them. He turned away from her abruptly and left the mockery of a lab, leaving T'Pol alone with her thoughts.  
  
She honestly didn't know what to do. She cared for the Commander, she and he both knew it. But the knowledge was relatively new for her, and still unsettling. And besides, was a relationship between them even possible? Did either of them care enough to make an interspecies relationship work? T'Pol knew only one thing about so called romantic relationships: they only worked if both partners were honest and willing to take risks. Mr. Tucker, she reflected, certainly had been more honest than she, and he would always be more willing to take risks. The question was, did she truly want this relationship, and was she willing to make that commitment? For the moment, T'Pol didn't know.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Trip spent the rest of the day avoiding T'Pol, trying to calm down and resign himself to the fact that all his hopes had been crushed. He finally went back to his quarters late that night, hungry from having missed dinner and still upset. It didn't get any better when he saw the 'message waiting' light flashing on his computer. With a sigh that would rival the winds of a hurricane, he stabbed at the consol to bring the message up. His heart literally stopped beating for a moment when he saw the signature at the top. The message itself was clear and concise, just as if she was speaking to him.  
  
Please come to my quarters. There is something we need to discuss.  
  
Unwittingly, Trip grit his teeth. There was no way he was going to dance to this tune. No way. He'd been humiliated enough to last a few lifetimes. The comm. chirped. Trip stared at it as his body suddenly went cold. It wasn't. It couldn't be . . . could it? She wouldn't be persistent enough to summon him at this time of night, would she? Trip knew the truth, and suddenly understood one of the meanings of 'blissful ignorance'. The comm. was still chirping insistently, so he purposefully answered it. 'Come on Trip, you can do this. Even if it is her, she's just a woman. Just a woman.' He told himself. 'Yeah right, that's the biggest understatement of the century.' Came the wry reply from somewhere inside his head.  
  
"Tucker here."  
  
"Did you receive my message?" Damn, he thought as his hand scrubbed the stubble forming on his cheek.  
  
"Yes." He replied, determined to be as clipped and clinical as she.  
  
"Then why are we having this conversation?" Came her dry question. Trip didn't respond, trying for the life of him to come up with some kind of excuse. Nothing came, and Trip cursed the powers that be. Without another thought, other than getting this over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible, he strode out of his room and down the corridor.  
  
Minutes later, T'Pol heard the chime at her door. Calling out and seating herself on the narrow bunk, she waited. The Commander entered, and immediately T'Pol knew he was not in the best of moods. They waited, neither daring to say what was on their mind.  
  
"Well? What's this about?" Tucker finally demanded. The Vulcan was not fazed by his temper.  
  
"As I recall, we have a standing appointment in the evenings."  
  
"I'm really not in the mood, T'Pol, and I don't think anything will help me sleep tonight. So if ya don't mind, I'll be goin' now."  
  
Turning back towards the door, Trip was startled to feel a diminutive hand on his forearm. He turned back, confused. T'Pol was standing mere inches from him, looking up at him with those indescribable eyes of hers. Trip's body tightened as he took in her appearance. She was in that dusty blue silk robe, the same one she'd worn before their first session. Seeing her in it, as the soft light made her skin glow, was more than sufficient to make Trip remember why he'd become attracted to her in the first place. He watched her full mouth move, and realized she was saying something.  
  
"If I cannot help you, perhaps we can finish what we began earlier."  
  
He wanted to drown himself in that low, sexy voice. God, this was torture.  
  
"There's nothin' to finish 'cause there was nothing there to begin with, at least on your part." He murmured.  
  
T'Pol's face remained soft, though a hint of amusement played in the depths of her pupils. "Do not presume to think that you know the workings of my mind, Mr. Tucker."  
  
He chuckled, becoming more relaxed. Hope was growing again. "Believe me, I don't." He became serious, "But T'Pol, enough of these games. I need to know, is this a mutual attraction or not?"  
  
T'Pol's gaze never left his, never gave any sign of uncertainty or shame. "It is." She replied. "But that doesn't make it easy. I am not human, Mr. Tucker, and I cannot behave like a human woman."  
  
"I would never ask you to." Trip responded sincerely. T'Pol seemed slightly dubious.  
  
"Our cultures differ vastly in these matters. On Vulcan we do not pursue romantic relationships at all."  
  
Trip took a step closer, saying "If you're tryin' ta tell me that you can't love, I don't buy it T'Pol. I know you have emotions, and powerful ones too."  
  
She looked up at him, an expression resembling that of pity on her face, "If I did, Commander, I can never experience it. It would undo my very being."  
  
"Then I'd never ask it of you."  
  
She still looked doubtful, and Trip sighed.  
  
"I know you don't believe me, and hell I wouldn't either if I was you. But the truth of it is, I can't love you if you aren't bein' true to yourself. Make sense?"  
  
Her eyebrow lifted gently, giving her a quizzical expression. "It's most logical, actually."  
  
Trip laughed. He hadn't felt this good in a very long time. But T'Pol wasn't finished yet.  
  
"Now that we have come to an understanding, how do we proceed?"  
  
Trip was slightly confused and becoming sleepy. He hid a yawn behind his hand. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I know very little of human courting rituals. How do we proceed from here?"  
  
Trip grinned. "We spend time together, get to know each other better, etc. You know, that kind of thing."  
  
"Basically what we do now."  
  
Trip smiled softly, thinking about that. "Except for one thing."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"There's quite a bit of touching involved."  
  
T'Pol's look was purposefully blank so as not to offend her new suitor, but he knew her too well to let it pass unnoticed. With a thoughtful expression, he asked,  
  
"I always meant to ask: why don't you Vulcans like to be touched?"  
  
T'Pol looked away briefly. No one had ever asked her that before and usually if they did, it was standard protocol to skirt the issue. But she was no longer bound to standard protocol, nor was the inquirer the average acquaintance.  
  
"We are touch-telepaths." She told him. Trip looked mildly stunned, then slightly alarmed.  
  
"So whenever we touch you, you can read our thoughts?"  
  
"Generally, no. The contact must be skin to skin, and even then I can only sense heightened emotions from the individual." She explained, deliberately omitting the information regarding bonded couples. As of yet, he didn't need to know about that particular evolutionary quirk. She was brought back to the moment by the feeling of his large warm palm slowly circling her waist.  
  
"So if I do this every once in a while, it's okay?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How about if I kiss you?" Her look told him that the romantic idea of a kiss was lost on Vulcans. He chuckled.  
  
"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, honey."  
  
T'Pol appeared to sigh, and then tilted her head up just a fraction. "Very well," she murmured. Trip wasted no time in closing the distance between their lips, and was pleased to know that his fantasies hadn't come close to the real thing. He pulled back, not wanting to overwhelm her in case she didn't like it. But instead of looking disgusted, the woman in his arms gave new meaning to the term 'star-struck lover'.  
  
"Well?" Trip asked. In response, she stood a little higher and kissed him again, this time a little deeper than the first.  
  
"I believe we have solved our problem." She told him, ever the scientist. He shook his head at her. "We'll see about that first thing tomorrow in the lab. If we didn't, dinner. If we did,--"  
  
"Lunch." She supplied. Trip grinned, gave her a last peck on the cheek, and headed off to dreams that couldn't be nearly as sweet as reality.  
  
~FIN~ 


End file.
